


The Little Coffee House On Magnolia

by peachish



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: BadBoy!Jun, Minghao's an art student, SoftBoy!Minghao, no art pieces were harmed in the making of this story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-04
Updated: 2018-03-04
Packaged: 2019-03-26 21:23:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13866285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachish/pseuds/peachish
Summary: "Junhui is like abstract expressionist art, too, Minghao thinks: loud and self-righteous. But, he’d be damned if he said that that doesn’t attract him. He picks his pencil up to try and look busy, to try and look as if he wasn’t just drooling over the overly confident man ordering a coffee."-Minghao is just trying to get through his art block, but Junhui is a pleasantly unpleasant interruption.





	The Little Coffee House On Magnolia

Fear is a startlingly broad term. One could bluntly say that fear is the sudden hypersensitivity to your surroundings that develops as your brain frantically tries to assess the root of your anxiety, but, however, that’s an awfully scientific response. Others might insist that fear is purely an emotional reaction; fear is the feeling you get when you notice the mischievous spider fiddling about in the corner of your kitchen, or the raw panic that floods your body when your pilot announces that the plane will make a crash landing and every nerve is screaming at you to escape, but there is nowhere for you to flee. Xu Minghao can’t argue against either of these responses. But, as he watches two crows fight over a discarded biscuit outside of the local coffeehouse on Magnolia, he can’t help but wonder what fear is to him. Fear is almost personal, different to every person. Minghao even dares to call fear a defining trait. To the two crows, fear is losing their eye to a sharp beak. To the biscuit, fear is being engulfed by a sharp beak.

Minghao draws his eyes away from the squabbling crows outside the window to take his warm mug of coffee in his hands, a savior from the bitter cold that’s biting him through his sweater. Truthfully, he hardly drinks coffee. Caffeine makes his thoughts race faster than his poor body can keep up with. His mother used to scold him when he came home from school with a cheap coffee in his hands, fuming that his anxieties will take him down before God could. Minghao reckons she was right. He takes a slow sip from the drink, immediately flinching away from the mug as the liquid scalds his tongue. Painful, but not scary, Minghao thinks. There is not a drop of fear in his body as he takes a second sip. The intoxicating aroma of the coffee calms his rampant thoughts, if only for a moment. The coffeehouse titters on around him. Though not five star, Minghao favors the small business. Wooden flooring and potted plants placed haphazardly throughout the establishment gives the shabby building a welcoming air. He is drawn to it, but at least he acknowledges that he’s drawn to it like a moth is drawn to a burning flame.

Today, the coffeehouse is bustling with life, but the seat in front of Minghao is noticeably empty. Rather, the far end of the table is cluttered with messy sketches and papers with too many words on them. His college requires him to submit a portfolio of his art to apply for their art scholarship program, and the opportunity was too good for Minghao and his overflowing passion for the arts to pass up. Unfortunately, his passion for sleep has left him scrambling to meet the deadline, which is how he ended up at the little coffee house on Magnolia. Stressful as hell, sure, but again, not scary. Minghao pushes his round specs back up his nose, which he is sure is still cherry red from the harsh wind, and sets his mug down. Pitifully, he pouts at the half finished drawing before him. Art block is bothersome, but it is fucking painful when a deadline is hanging over him like a dark cloud. Now, Minghao thinks, this just might be pretty close to scary.

Minghao picks up his pencil and sticks the end in between his teeth -- A bad habit. His mother always reprimanded him, saying that he would need dentures by the time he’s twenty. Minghao never took the warning with a grain of salt until he turned twenty and still had a full set of teeth. His drawing is...turning into something, to say the least. Maybe he could just say it’s abstract expressionism and call it a day. It’s not like Pollock ever looked like he knew what he was doing either, anyways.

The annoying bell that hangs precariously above the entrance tinkles lightly, Almost fairylike, Minghao notes. Maybe he should add a fairy to the drawing. Hopefully the professor has a soft spot for fantasy. His thoughts are cut off by a joyous laugh, loud and unrestrained. Unimpressed, Minghao raises quizzical eyes to the source of the interruption. Lounging against the coffee bar stands Wen Junhui, and Minghao frantically removes the pencil from his mouth. He quickly brushes the eraser shavings off his thighs then runs a hand through his bleached bangs. It’s a bit of a stretch to say that Minghao knows Junhui, but he has definitely had his fair share of run ins with him thanks to their mutual friend, Soonyoung. Frankly, Minghao doesn’t know how Soonyoung became involved with someone like Junhui. Junhui walks through life like he leaves gold behind in his footprints and has the superiority complex to show for it, too. His tousled honey brown hair always falls perfectly across his tanned forehead in a way that has Minghao dreaming of running his hands through it. This morning, Junhui wears black jeans that hug his thighs, a deep neck dark sweater tucked loosely into his belt and a thin black choker that accentuates his long neck perfectly, and fuck, Minghao is staring. Junhui glances over to him and flashes him a wide smile that doesn’t quite reach his catlike eyes. Minghao pulls the sleeves of his sweater over his hands self consciously, quickly shifting his gaze back to his drawing.

Junhui is like abstract expressionist art, too, Minghao thinks: loud and self-righteous. But, he’d be damned if he said that that doesn’t attract him. He picks his pencil up to try and look busy, to try and look as if he wasn’t just drooling over the overly confident man ordering a coffee. Apparently, his efforts were for nothing because out of the corner of his eye, he can just make out a familiar figure walking towards him. Minghao’s heart picks up, like it’s trying to tell him to _leave, leave, leave,_ but he can’t quite hear it over the sound of his blood rushing. His cheeks probably rival the red of the potted roses on the floor, Minghao thinks in disdain. Maybe this is fear.

“Well, if it isn’t Xu Minghao,” Junhui exaggerates as he sits in the seat across from Minghao. The large black coffee clutched in his lengthy fingers makes Minghao suddenly overaware of the frilly coffee drink he ordered for himself.

“Hi, Junhui,” Minghao mumbles. Junhui laughs lightly, allowing Minghao to see the shine of the small tongue piercing he flaunts. He feels like he could crumble like cookies into milk at any second. Minghao and Junhui have never hung out outside of the occasional meeting with Soonyoung. The situation feels too awkward, too out of place. But, Junhui doesn’t seem affected by it. He always looks as if he has never felt the weight of the world on his shoulders before. Minghao wishes more than ever that he could feel the same.

“It’s been a minute, don’t you think?” Junhui notes, raising his steaming mug to his lips and stretching his other arm across the back of his seat. Minghao swallows roughly. “You went blonde?” He asks with a raised eyebrow. Minghao shrinks under his attention.

“Oh, yeah,” Minghao replies, grabbing his own mug and clasping his hands around it like prayer. “It was pretty spur of the moment, actually.”

Junhui hums. “I figured you would dye your hair at some point. You have that whole ‘uppity, self-entitled art school student striving to reach an aesthetic nirvana’ thing going on. I should’ve made a bet with Soonyoung,” he teases. Minghao fights the urge to roll his eyes. Junhui isn’t like abstract expressionism, Minghao decides. He’s more like a greek god: beautiful, but really fucking annoying.

“I see you haven’t changed at all,” Minghao says dryly, taking a sip from his mug. He hopes to whatever higher power that’s listening that there isn’t any whipped cream on his lip.

Junhui tilts his head slightly, causing his bangs to fall into his eyes a bit. He purses his lips for a moment, as if he is deep in thought, and says, “No, actually. It suits you. It’s cute.”

Minghao’s eyes widen, comically if the way Junhui smirks has anything to say about it. He tries to tell himself that the compliment didn’t mean anything, Junhui flirts with everyone, but then Junhui’s reaching across the table and running his thumb across Minghao’s lip and _oh my god his hands are impossibly soft_ before sticking his thumb in his mouth, licking off the whipped cream. Minghao feels his cheeks flush. “You had a little something,” Jun explains slyly.

“Oh, um, thank you,” Minghao stutters. He can’t figure out if Junhui is messing with him or not. After all, Minghao once saw Junhui spend an entire night chatting up a waitress just to watch her face fall when he told her that he’s gay. He wouldn’t be surprised if Junhui has some sort of hidden camera scenario in the works.

Junhui sets his mug down to pick up one of the many sketches laying before him. “Still a struggling artist, I take it?” He asks, turning the drawing around in his hands like flipping it over will give him a new perspective. Minghao snatches the drawing from his hand, coffee spilling over the edge of his mug from the sudden movement, and holds it to his chest.

“Still no, Junhui. I have a job, you know,” Minghao sighs, “These are for a scholarship application. This portfolio is...coming together, I guess?” Minghao scans his eyes across the table, taking in the drawings’ various states.

“Coming together?” Junhui prompts, “They look just fine to me. I’m no art critic, but these are a close second to the prettiest piece of art here.” Minghao actually does roll his eyes this time. That was just cheesy, fucking literature majors.

“Yeah, whatever. I’ve just been hit with some pretty bad art block, is all. How much do you think it’ll cost to get this drawing to draw itself?” Minghao says, gesturing vaguely at the paper in front of him. Junhui chuckles, and it sounds sweet like honey. A small smile tugs at his mouth. He would give anything to hear that small laugh again.

“By the looks of it, I don’t think that drawing is accepting commissions,” Junhui jokes, “Here, let me see it.” He quickly swipes the paper before Minghao can object, but that doesn’t stop Minghao from pouting that “it’s not done yet, Junhui!” and making grabby hands at him. “What is this supposed to be?”

“It’s supposed to be art, it’s just not quite there yet,” Minghao says. If his art can’t stand up for itself then someone has to.

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

“How sure?”

“Junhui-”

“Okay, okay,” Junhui interrupts. He holds the drawing in front of him, with the front facing Minghao, then proceeds to rip the paper in half. Minghao leaps out of his chair.

“Junhui! What the fuck! Oh my god, you fucking lunatic!” He yells, moving to grab the ripped drawing from him. But, Junhui is faster. He crumples the paper into a ball before offering it to Minghao. Minghao opens his mouth to scream at him, but Junhui stops him by placing a finger on his lips.

“Hao, you’re making a scene,” he says with a teasing smirk and a challenge in his eyes that Minghao isn’t quite brave enough to meet. Minghao forcibly moves Junhui’s finger off his lips and snatches the ruined drawing out of his hand before stomping back to his seat, slumping in it childishly. Junhui isn’t even like a greek god, Minghao concludes, he’s just the damn devil.

“Why would you do that?” Minghao whines, hugging the mess of paper, “I didn’t even ask you to sit down but you just came over here like you own the damn place. If i wanted to see you I would have just drawn a summoning circle.”

Junhui snorts at that. “So the puppy does bite,” he says with a false look of shock, “And here I was thinking that you would be too soft to tell me off.” Minghao offers Junhui the smile of a man who just got bit by a snake. “I did _that_ because it was shit, and it wasn’t going to stop being shit at any rate. Though, I don’t think I would mind you summoning me every now and then,” he hums.

Minghao fiddles with his glasses to give his hands something to do other than jump on Junhui or, more likely, strangle him. “What do you even know about art? Do you know how long I spent on that drawing? It was just some art block!” Minghao complains pitifully.

Junhui takes a long sip from his mug, watching Minghao like his sad puppy dog eyes don’t have an affect on him. “I was helping you.”

“And how does ruining my life’s work help me?” Okay, maybe not “life’s work”, but Minghao spent all morning on that piece for Christ’s sake.

“You were stuck on it, Minghao, that’s the thing. You didn’t even know what the fuck you were doing more than I did, and I can’t tell the difference between tempera and watercolor. Now you can start over, see?” Junhui grabs a blank paper and a pencil and places it in front of Minghao. “You were stuck on something that didn’t want to be moved. Kinda poetic, but poetry won’t win you this scholarship.”

Minghao bites down onto his lower lip. God, that little moment of wisdom shouldn’t have been as attractive as it was. “I..I guess you’re right,” he mutters, jumping back a bit when he notices Junhui’s gaze drop down to his abused lip.

“I know. So now that you have a fresh start, what are you going to draw?” Junhui inquires and puts his chin on his hand, making him seem much more innocent than he truly is.

Minghao tears his eyes away from Junhui and urges the butterflies in his stomach to calm down. “I’m not sure, actually. Like I said, art block,” he shrugs.

“Draw me,” Junhui offers, “Maybe we could even try a nude model drawing.” He drags his eyes down Minghao’s body suggestively. Minghao accidentally bangs his hand on the edge of the table, causing Junhui to lean back in his chair in laughter.

“God, ow,” Minghao hisses, shaking his hand frantically, “Um, I don’t know.”

“What do you mean?” Junhui asks as his laughter dies down, “I was just messing with you, puppy."

Minghao shakes his head too quickly. “No! No, it’s not that. Don’t take this the wrong way but I just don’t think I could draw you in a way that does you justice,” he rambles, cheeks flushing when his mind catches up with his words.

Junhui smirks. “Now, how could I possibly take that the wrong way?”

Minghao cringes. “I don’t know. I’m just nervous.” Junhui coos over him, causing Minghao to blush even harder. How does one take their words back when they meant them? 

“You know what?” Junhui says, running a hand through his hair with a wide smile. “I have class soon, but if you change your mind…” He reaches for the discarded ruined drawing, unfolding it carefully before jotting his number down on it, “You know where you can find me.” With a final sip of his coffee, Junhui throws a wink at Minghao and leaves the table without a goodbye. Minghao stares at the number dumbly. He thinks he’ll be calling that number soon.

**Author's Note:**

> I might turn this into a chaptered work if anyone is interested! <3


End file.
